


Birds Of A Feather

by local_enginerd



Category: Overwatch (Video Game), Pharmercy (Overwatch)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, birdmoms can't sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 00:37:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10842807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/local_enginerd/pseuds/local_enginerd
Summary: On nights like these, Fareeha Amari appreciates the quiet, holed away in her quarters with a book and her girlfriend tucked under her chin. It is a fleeting feeling, stolen from the harsh reality in which this illicit Overwatch lives. Yet sometimes even the brilliant Angela Ziegler can be plagued with nightmares.





	Birds Of A Feather

Raindrops drum against the walls of the Watchpoint.

_Plip plip, plop._

On nights like these, Fareeha Amari appreciates the quiet, holed away in her quarters with a book and her girlfriend tucked under her chin.

War and the losses brought by the day seem softer, further away. It is a fleeting feeling, stolen from the harsh reality in which this illicit Overwatch lives. There is only so long that they can indulge in this moment.

A quick glance at the nearest clock confirms the hour. As much as Fareeha would like to crawl into bed, she realizes that can’t leave the couch without waking Angela.

_Plip plip, plop._

As she sinks down into the couch, Fareeha feels Angela stir, so she quietly tucks a bookmark into the novel and settles under her girlfriend, who has taken to using the soldier like a personal pillow. The doctor winds her arms around her girlfriend’s middle, blinking the sleep from her blue eyes.

“Let’s go to bed, _habibti_.” Fareeha removes the glasses she’s been wearing and kisses Angela on the nose. “We both know you don’t get enough of it.”

“Mmmm,” Angela hums into Fareeha’s sweater. “Don’t wanna. Not without you.”

The doctor intertwines her hand with her girlfriend’s. Ever perceptive, Fareeha finds the meaning behind Angela’s words immediately. Sometimes even the brilliant Angela Ziegler can be plagued with nightmares; her credentials do little to dissuade her demons.

“Of course,” the soldier replies, pressing a kiss to Angela’s temple. “I wouldn’t dream of going anywhere else.”

As the two untangle themselves and stagger to their bed, the rain drums a pattern in tune with their soft footsteps.

_Plip plip, plop._

They have long since settled in bed, Angela wrapped around Fareeha’s side, when it becomes clear that not even Fareeha Amari can ward off the doctor’s nightmares tonight.

Yet, the dreams are not something Angela ever likes talking about; one of the few chinks in her armor. And, while she is too proud to admit it, Angela hates being pitied. For this reason, Fareeha feigns sleep and listens to the rain.

It takes every ounce of self-control not to move; the great protector must stand idle, and therefore helpless, beside the woman she loves as Angela bears her own hell. The thought of it tears Fareeha apart.

_Plip plip, plop._

Finally, after an excruciating eternity of Angela tossing and turning, Fareeha whispers.

“Can’t go back to sleep?”

She, knowing the boundaries that have been set and the fact that she is toeing the line, does not press further. Still, Angela sighs in resignation and mumbles an affirmative, listening to the words rumble through her girlfriend’s chest.

They lie in silence as their hands find each other. Fareeha’s thumb traces smooth circles on the back of Angela’s hand; the doctor fiddles with the ring on the soldier’s.

“Tell me about this,” Angela begins, a shipwrecked sailor searching for driftwood to cling onto. “You never take it off.”

“My father was the one who conferred this ring to me.” Fareeha rests her cheek on the top of the doctor’s head, gathering her thoughts.

“The tradition started almost two hundred years ago,” Fareeha spoke quietly, tracing the worn edges of her ring. “This is an Iron Ring, though not that these have been made of iron for decades, presented to you when you graduate as an engineer.”

_Plip plip, plop._

Even in the darkness, she knows that Angela is gazing up at her, hanging onto every word.

“The ring is a constant reminder that your decisions may impact the safety of those you seek to protect. It represents the moral and ethical commitment of the profession,”  Fareeha grins. “It’s not unlike your Hippocratic Oath.”

Angela tugs her hand into the air, squinting against the lightning reflecting off the edges of the ring. Still, she does not speak so Fareeha fills the silence once again.

“It starts out rough, uneven so you take note of every line you draw. By the time the lesson sinks in, the ring will have long been smoothed out.”

Fareeha pauses for a moment, the thought of the Raptora suits at the forefront of her mind.

_Plip plip, plop._

“Every choice you make, every innovation you design has the capacity for changing the world. But is that change always for the better?”

The doctor hums approvingly, the conversation bearing an uncanny resemblance to the concerns she once voiced of her nanotechnologies. Perhaps there is comfort in that too. Perhaps she and Fareeha are more alike than they could have ever realized.

“We are supposed to return the rings when we no longer practice engineering, either by retirement or by death.”

At that, even the darkness cannot hide the truth that looms over their heads. They are both touched by death, both who hold life in their hands; Angela on the operating table, Fareeha as her finger hovers over the trigger.

“I know how it feels,” Fareeha interrupts Angela’s thoughts. “You don’t have to go through this alone. You did what you could.”

“Thank you for that.” Angela speaks softly, drowsiness pulling at the edges of her voice. The exhaustion in her bones suddenly becomes very apparent, so the doctor tucks herself into the crook of Fareeha’s arm. She presses a kiss to the soldier’s jaw.

“Good night, Fareeha.”

_Plip plip, plop._

**Author's Note:**

> I cranked two thirds of this out at like 2 am because, like Angela, I could not sleep.


End file.
